


reclamation

by chii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Galra Keith (Voltron), Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: Shiro's been held on Lotor's ship for three months.(Kmeme fill for the prompt: Keith/Shiro-I love the dirtybad Galra/Shiro prompts and fills here, but I really want the aftermath of that, when Shiro's been through the wringer...)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tw! [Rest of prompt here.](http://voltron-kink.dreamwidth.org/1161.html?thread=441225#cmt441225) I think I've tagged for everything but if I forgot anything please let me know! This doesn't differ too much from the fill I posted, but I did some brief editing/gave it a one over. Any issues/typos are my own fault and I'm terrible.

The door creaks open and Keith snarls out the word _empty_ just as Pidge's own comes over the comms, equally disgusted. _Empty_ she sighs and there's the sound of a door slamming directly after. They don't have time for this; the clock on their HUD keeps ticking down the longer this takes and running from cell to cell trying to find him isn't _working_. 

" _Shiro!"_ Keith cups both hands to his mouth again and yells down the hall - there's an echo but nothing else, no call of his name in return and nothing he can use to track Shiro. The HUD insists he's here - closest match they've had in months and yet, nothing. He passes through the rest of the cells and finds a similar amount of _fucking nothing_ before cursing and slamming the last door shut. When he comes out of the hallway, it's even less useful. "It's just the personal quarters down here." 

"You're certain he isn't there?" Allura says in that carefully tight voice that means she's hiding any sort of emotion, holding herself steady because that's all she can do right now. "I-- look for any sort of consoles, somewhere we've _missed_." 

There's a flurry of noise on the comms but Keith doesn't bother trying to make it out. Pidge's data could be wrong, but it usually isn't. Shiro's on this ship and if he's not anywhere else in the prisoner block then it stands to reason he's in here. They'd assumed the prison and gladiator levels but hadn't considered Lotor’s room and the staff deck. Lance is still looking, judging by the repeated mutter of _empty_ and slam of doors. He'll probably hit the other end of the hall Keith's at, which, turns out to be a good thing given that as soon as he starts going down it the Galra not caught in the first wave of firing come out, guns blazing. The clock keeps ticking down as Keith tears his way through them, wiping his helmet clear of the blood that spatters against him with the use of his sword. Nothing in the first three doors. Nothing in the fourth. 

“...Keith, you’re close to Lotor’s quarters,” Pidge says in private, voice crackling over the comm. They don’t need to say anything more than that; Keith’s intimately familiar with the vids sent over by Lotor, mocking them, Shiro featuring in every single one. He gets what they’re implying in a heartbeat and hates it, hates that there’s a chance that he’s _in there_ , that none of them considered- 

"We're wasting time," Lance says loudly, kicking in another door after shooting the interface. “Empty. Keith, we’re gonna run out of time.” 

“I know. Listen, Lotor’s quarter are here, maybe-” Keith pulls out his bayard and jams it into the interface, watching it flash Galra purple and start sparking and smoking as the bayard melts everything. 

The door hisses open in front of Lance and Keith starts trying to yank his bayard out. "Keith." 

It's his name - strangled, a little off, but insistent. Keith's stomach drops to his feet and he turns slowly, coming up behind where Lance is standing, gun held so tight it's shaking. Shiro's there - one fear assuaged. He's missing his arm, which is concerning but at least not new; he’s seen Shiro without it before, though it’s always jarring. What _is_ concerning and why Keith realizes Lance stopped is that he’s kneeling naked on the ground in the ostentatious bedroom. He isn't reacting to anything even though they’ve made plenty of noise getting here, which Keith chalks up to the mask that he's wearing. 

From what he can tell, it looks like it’s made of a thick black leather. It wraps over his eyes, his hair grown out from his time in captivity, hanging over it. There’s another piece that latches into it, covering his ears and another set of latches that connect it to a bit in his mouth, forcing it open. He doesn't know how long it's been on Shiro, but long enough that his chin and throat are slick with liquid too thick to be just spit. The mask connects to the collar around the bruised line of his throat and then fastens to his wrist in a glowing lilac line; Keith traces it to the bed where he’s leashed. The rest of him is bruised in shades of sunset, blues and yellows and the red of teeth-marks at the insides of his thighs, his chest, his shoulder. 

There's still more to take in but he can't seem to process it. He stares a moment and hears Lance make a horrible, ugly, strangled sound and then forces himself to act. "Call the Princess. Tell her and Coran to prep a cryopod. Work with her on making sure that no one but us is in the hangar when we get Shiro out of the lion, and trust me, okay?" 

"I-- wait, trust you?" Lance jerks his head away from the horror show in front of him, clearly balking at the orders until he glances back and takes it in all over again. Whatever is the reason, he thumbs the comms on and starts working which leaves Keith to edge his way closer. Shiro still isn’t reacting. There’s give in the line tethering him to the bed; enough that he can use the bathroom and reach the bed, probably, but nothing else.

Four minutes until the fleet gets here. Two minutes to Blue and head for the Castle if they hurry but there's likely to be interference. Lotor isn't just going to let his prize go free. He might not be on the ship but they know him well enough to know that his back up plans have back ups. If Shiro doesn't let them get him out of here fast enough they're not going to be able to get the Castle out of here and they don't have the firepower to fight right now, not when they just came out of the last hunt for Shiro with half the castle not functioning. They don't have time to fight their way out. Decision made, Keith bolts for Lotor's closet and starts working, keeping Shiro in the corner of his vision.

Lotor’s flagship rocks - Hunk’s doing, most likely, and Shiro braces himself a little more fully, head jerking from side to side as he likely tries to hear and see something from what's going on, what's causing the ship to move. He doesn't reach up to touch the mask on his face; Keith’s not sure if it’s because he knows he can’t get it off, or because he doesn’t know who is in the room with him. It’s likely what’s blocking his ability to sense the Lions, too; by this point he’d be able to feel them but Lotor had done something that cut his connection to Black and subsequently all the rest. 

Dressed in Lotor’s armor, Keith stalks back over and summons his bayard again. Cutting it is all he can really try; Keith tries once to slice at the glowing thread and the bayard glances right off of it so he does the next best thing and cuts straight through the metal it's lashed to and winds the excess cord around that. It gives him a lead, something for him to use to pull Shiro up. There's no fight at first, but Keith sees the threat of it in Shiro's shoulders, the way he stumbles to his feet and searches blindly to try and place whoever's in the room. 

Some of the relief is dragged out of him a moment later, though, when Shiro staggers, his breath whistling out of him as he tilts to the side and catches himself with his hands, wobbling. When Keith glances down, he sees that Shiro’s knees are black and blue; who knows how long he’s been kneeling there with them like that. Lotor hasn’t been on the ship in hours after they started their plan - has Shiro been here the whole _time_? 

"What the fuck are you-- take the mask off him," Lance hisses off the comms, already working his way through the door with the access codes Pidge had sent over to get them out and to their lion down the other hall. "Keith!"

"We don't have time to fight our way out," Keith says and can't quite believe he's actually uttered the words. Lotor's armor doesn't fit him perfectly but when he shifts into his Galra form, broadening out a little bit, it works. It’s passable. It's not his ostentatious armor, but it's nice enough to pass himself off as an officer. Nice enough to pretend that he’s evacing Lotor’s prize possession. The thought makes his stomach twist, but it’s all they have at this point. Digging through the closet gets another piece of clothing - something large enough to drape around Shiro’s shoulders. He gets the hint even if he can’t see, tugging at the material until it covers him better. Lance curses again and steps back from the door, watching Keith warily while he takes the pack holding Keith's Paladin armor and hefts it over his shoulder. “Take the way we came in. It’s longer, but you’ll move faster than we will. Get Blue to meet us at the rendezvous point. I’ll radio if anything goes wrong.” 

“ _Damnit, Keith_ ,” Lance bites out with feeling and hauls ass down the way they came while Keith tugs at the lead firmly, watching Shiro slowly straighten up and take each step cautiously. The mask covers too much of his face to see any expression but it’s clear that walking isn’t pleasant in any way. It’s necessary, though. They have to get him out; they can’t let Lotor get him back, not when they know that he’ll just take it out on Shiro. 

Pidge’s program works to open the doors in front of him when he places his palm against them, his bayard hidden, holding a Galra weapon in one hand, Shiro’s lead in the other. It kills him; every so often Shiro makes a noise when he stumbles, blindly trying to reach out with his good hand to feel where he is, but Keith can’t be soft, not when he’s pushing his way past Galra patrols with snarls of _The Prince wants me to have his prize meet him on the other ship,_ and pushing past before anyone can object. They reach the rallying point thirty seconds early, almost, and Shiro’s wobbling on his feet, naked save for the robe and shivering in the cold of the hangar but with the Galra scrambling around them there’s not a lot of options here but playing the part. _Come on, Lance_. 

As if on cue, Blue winds around and bursts straight through the hangar’s field separating it from space, taking out a solid chunk of Galra ships and men. The ground rumbles underneath them and Shiro’s head jerks again, nearly falling over when an explosion lights up behind them. They’re mostly forgotten in the chaos, Blue providing covering fire and a line of ice that blocks any of the Galra from even getting close. 

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith says unnecessarily, dropping the disguise, shifting back to human as he pulls at the lead as gently as he can while still getting Shiro to come with him. He fights for a moment and then the ship shudders again and just like that he jerks against the bindings, falling onto his ass with a shout that’s muffled just barely by the bit in his mouth. “Shit, _shit_ , Shiro--” 

“You should’ve taken the mask off, Keith, he doesn’t know-” Lance’s displeasure is all the louder when projected from Blue’s audio on the lion. 

“I can’t, Lance, it would’ve taken too long and-- just shut up, keep them back, I’m gonna get him on board.” 

Behind them, Blue’s mouth opens and the deck lowers; they need to get _moving_ , though so rather than trying to fight him, Keith puts a human hand on Shiro’s shoulder, drags it up until he can touch the nape of his neck and squeezes, just once. It’s enough to shake him out of it; Keith grabs for his hand and puts it on the ice a moment later and just like that, Shiro gets it. Human hand, explsions, and Blue’s ice barrier - it’s enough, Keith hopes. Shiro pulls himself to his feet slowly, letting Keith help and together they stagger on board, Blue taking off as soon as they’re on and her mouth closes. 

“Took you long enough,” Lance mutters once they’re situated. Shiro doesn’t try to run but he does sag heavily against the wall, his head twisting from side to side as he tries to process where he is. “Engineering kit is under my seat. Should have what you need to get that shit off of him.” 

Keith uses both hands to get Shiro to settle, easing him to sit down on the cold metal with a muttered apology but there aren’t a lot of options, not when Lance is trying to outmaneuver the ships Lotor’s sent after them. “Got it,” Keith grabs for the kit and drags it closer, pawing through it until he comes across a set of pliers to rip the collar and shackle off. The sick lilac glow starts to fade when he’s got it undone and that’s when Shiro twitches, shivering.

He sees the moment that the lion bond reconnects with Shiro. Whatever dampeners they had on the bindings on his wrist, they're removed now. Keith can feel him back in the bond again and watches Shiro’s shoulders draw up tight for a moment and then slump forward, relief written in his posture. _We’ve got you_ , he tries to push through the bond, but Shiro’s too faint in his head for him to tell if any of that got through. The same tool doesn’t work on the tiny buckles and straps holding the mask to Shiro’s face, though; it’s too big. None of the other tools seem to work, either, Keith cursing as he digs through it. 

"Wormhole," Lance says from the pilot's seat, that same level tone he's learned from Allura. He’s hiding the edge of fear well, though Keith can feel bits of it pulsing through the bond and knows that he’s projecting just as hard. "Keith, grab the duffle bag that's in the second shelf by the electrical shelf. Should have pants and everything else in there. First aid kit is in the drawer next to it." 

"I need to find something to cut this mask off with." Keith hisses, watching Shiro press both hands flat against Blue's floor but not start groping at the mask or trying to cover himself. His breathing is shakier, the audible noise hitching every so often but Keith doesn't are touch him again, not until they fix this. 

After a moment of searching and finding nothing, Keith stares at the Black bayard with thinly veiled displeasure and then pulls the Marmoran blade out instead. His hand touches Shiro's chin lightly at first and then more firmly, once he's sure Shiro won't bolt or jerk away and cut himself. It takes some careful slicing but he manages to cut all the points that were tight around the back and lifts the portion that covers his ears gently. Whatever it was in his ears takes some gentle tugging before they come out but the whole piece separates from the mask and Shiro trembles, makes a loud, garbled noise clearly an attempt at talking, head tilting left and right. The Blade is too large for the detail work it takes to get the rest of the mask off and he’s not sure any of the tools are going to work here, too much metal too close to Shiro’s face.

"Shiro, Shiro, it's us," Keith says quietly, finally daring to touch him again, touching Shiro's shoulder. He holds his breath a long, awful moment, waiting for that to register. It does after a pause that seems to drag out forever; Shiro goes still and then hunches into himself as he kneels there on Blue's floor, half his face still covered by the mask. "You can hear me now, right? Tap on the ground once for yes and twice for no." 

There's no tap, but Shiro's fist lifts and falls in a harsh thud, his shoulders trembling. From the corner of his eye, Keith sees Lance turn slowly and stare at Shiro for a long moment before he has to jerk his attention back to the screen of Blue. 

"Okay. Lance and I got you off the ship. We beat Lotor back, the rest of the fleet is behind us. I'm gonna start cutting off the other pieces to the mask and get it off. Okay?" Another thud, and Keith's stomach clenches. He can't imagine what Shiro went through the near three months he was gone. There's evidence of it all over him but he can't properly wrap his mind around it and frankly the idea of trying is terrifying. All he can do right now is try to focus on what the next step is and then the next. "Here, lift your hand up." 

He's not sure if this is going to make him feel better or not, but Shiro obeys it and lifts his hand so Keith takes it after a beat of hesitation, just touching his fingertips to Shiro's, letting him be the one to tangle their fingers together, holding so tightly it's a wonder Keith's hand doesn't bruise. "I've got you." 

The words feel hollow, despite the intent behind them. If he really had Shiro, nothing would have happened to him. _I’ve got you_ is a lie at best but Shiro squeezes his hand in acknowledgement and then, because it's _fucking Shiro_ , he taps his fingers against Keith's just once. _Yes_. 

He's supposed to be the one comforting Shiro after what he's gone through and yet he's the one calming Keith down, grounding him, helping him think. Clenching his jaw, Keith rises up and stretches to reach the bags talked about. Sweat pants get pulled out, along with a tshirt; both will be too small but they'll work. Lance won't ever be Shiro's size but he's gotten larger as time passed and Shiro, Keith's relatively sure from just a look at him, has lost weight and muscle mass from his time being imprisoned. He’s gained a little more muscle, from what he can tell, but the Galra weren’t overly concerned with making sure that their fighters were fed the best, simply that they were in a state to fight. The first aid kit is pulled out next and then Keith turns toward Shiro, trying to figure out the best step afterward. 

"Lance made sure we'd be alone when we landed. The Princess and Coran already have a pod r--" 

Abruptly, there's two sharp squeezes to Keith's hand and he stills from where he's pawing through the supplies in the kit. Another two squeezes, harder this time. "Shiro, what?" 

The two squeezes that happen again linger longer this time, Shiro clearly saying no, but to _what_? Keith doesn't quite bristle but he doesn't understand- he's clearly hurt, they need to get him in there as soon as possible. "I don't know what you want. No, what? No pod?” 

"Dude, I- Shiro, sorry, but Keith _look at him_. Gonna take a few hours to be done in there, I wouldn't - I get it if Shiro doesn't want to stay like -- this." 

Shiro's hand squeezes just once, firm, against Keith's hand and he blows a breath out, reaching for the sweat pants instead, then. "Alright. Help me get you into these. Once you’re dressed we’ll figure out this thing." 

Keith avoids looking too long at, or even touching the clear teeth marks where Lotor or someone else bit hard enough to draw beads of blood. He doesn't examine the scattering of bruises along the curve of his ass or at his chest as he helps him get a shirt on. All of it seems like he's viewing it like a movie- like this didn't really happen. He knows he's not really processing things, he's just-- acting, doing what needs done, but that doesn't seem to matter, either because it’s real. It happened. The trickle of white down the inside of Shiro’s thighs is enough proof of that, but Keith’s desperately unsure if he should offer to help clean him up or just wait until they’re in private. Since Shiro doesn’t fight being helped into pants, he assumes waiting is the proper option. 

The wet wipes they normally keep for wiping off equipment when doing work on the lions are a blessing right now. Once he’s clothed, Keith opens one with his teeth and then tugs it out, the smell of _clean_ instantly filling Blue’s cabin. “I’m gonna - can I clean you up a little bit?"

Keith takes one of them and waits until Shiro squeezes his hand before gingerly starting to wipe up the mess around Shiro’s mouth and chin. It’s not perfect; the bit keeps him from closing his mouth or biting down so Keith knows that until the bit is removed it’s going to be messy but hopefully, they can get it off before too long.

Another slower examination of the tool kit comes up with what looks like a screwdriver of some kind, with a laser point to it. He remembers seeing Pidge cut metal with it which means this is probably their best bet. “Lance, you need to either stop or fly really, really slow here.” 

It’s a testament to how long they’ve known each other - how much they’ve grown that Lance doesn’t object; he sets Blue to hover since they’re through the wormhole and listens to the hiss of metal being sliced bit by bit. Shiro, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He’s still underneath Keith’s careful hands, exhaling harshly when the heat from the laser gets close but not moving. There’s the heavy clang of one part of the mask hitting the ground, another hiss of metal, and then the other part quickly followed by a ragged breath and choked noise. 

“Shit,” Lance breathes, wordlessly leaning into the silent comfort Blue offers him, not daring to look back. Keith’s grateful for the trust - and for the small amount of privacy it offers. The moment the pieces are off, Shiro releases Keith’s hand and grapples for the collar and wrist restraints, pulling with a grind of metal until they pop off and hit the ground, too. There’s nothing Keith can do here but watch, but he’s never been particularly good at just _watching_. Another wet wipe is provided to Shiro after a second of hesitation and finally, _finally_ Shiro looks at him, taking it slowly. There’s nothing said between them, but there doesn’t need to be. Later, they’ll talk about it. Right now, Shiro takes the cloth delicately and wipes his face and chin clean again, neither of them commenting on how badly his hand is shaking. While Shiro cleans himself off, Keith turns to the waters they keep stocked on board for if they’re standed; he stabs one of them with the straw that comes with it and passes it to Shiro once he’s done cleaning himself up. 

A mouthful of water goes to rinsing his mouth out and Shiro spits it into the discarded wet wipe that’d been used to clean his face. The rest of the water ends up drained in a few gulps and then his eyes focus on Keith again, actually taking in what he’s seeing. Relieved, Keith opens his mouth only for Shiro to drop his eyes down to the outfit he’s wearing. His face loses what tiny amount of color it has at the sight of Keith in Lotor’s clothing; Keith hates himself for it, for not _thinking._

“I had to - when I was leading you out of Lotor’s chambers. Didn’t know another way,” Keith tries, biting into the meat of his cheek so harshly he tastes blood a moment later and has to stop, hands clenching. 

“It’s fine,” Shiro shakes his head as Keith tries to explain, but no, no, he should have known better, done better--

“Shit. Shiro, I had to, it’s-” Keith cuts himself off the moment Shiro’s hand reaches out, curling back around his again. The grip is tight, almost bruising as Shiro holds him but he’s not about to protest. 

“Not really your color, is it,” Shiro mumbles, voice rough and hoarse, but audible, clearly _Shiro_. It’s the same shit sense of humor that Keith’s used to in terrible situations but instead of making him laugh, it makes tears burn at his eyes, his throat closing up. “Stick to red. Or black.” 

“Oh, boy, I forgot about your shitty sense of humor,” Lance says from the pilot’s seat, still not looking back at them. 

“My sense of humor is fine.” Shiro draws his legs up to his chest with a movement that’s slow and achingly careful, tugging Keith in close since their hands are still joined. Gingerly, he crawls across Blue and comes as close as he dares, not quite sure if he ought to release Shiro’s hand or not; Shiro doesn’t seem keen on doing it, so Keith waits. Holds on as tight as he dares while Lance gets them back to the Castle, the cabin filled with only Shiro’s unsteady breathing and the low hum of electronics for the rest of the ride.

-

Keith’s room is closest to the hangar so that’s where they go after confirming Shiro doesn’t mind _where_ so long as he can get cleaned up and lie down before the other paladins swarm him. They make it into Keith's room and Lance gives them both one long lingering look before shaking his head and exhaling. "I'll get some food, clothes from Shiro’s room and a few other things. Fifteen ticks and then I’ll be outside the door.”

"Thanks, Lance," Keith says after a moment of hesitation, watching Shiro gingerly start to remove his shirt, pulling at the string of his pants. The door hisses shut and then they're alone, Shiro grimacing as he pulls the pants down. It leaves him naked again and while that’s not the jarring part, everything that’s bared is, reminders of what happened splashed across his skin. The scarring is the same; he’s seen Shiro nude enough to know where every single one is and to know as much as Shiro knows about how he got them. There are new ones, though - and injuries that are going to scar, most likely. Those are the ones that make his stomach twist. 

"You don't have to stay," Shiro says quietly, almost too much so to be heard. The shirt gets folded neatly, military clean lines and the sweatpants do too; Keith wonders if that's something he was used to doing while on the Castle when he took his arm off, or if he learned that while captured. Maybe it’s just a coping mechanism - following Garrison protocol even outside, years later. Knowing either way isn't going to make anything better. "I've handled this before. You shouldn't have to." 

The slight lilt he adds to the word _this_ makes Keith's stomach clench in horror. Distantly, he'd known that it hadn't been a good year in captivity, but they'd never gotten to the point of talking about it in detail. Shiro had nightmares, but didn't want to discuss them. After a year or so of piloting Voltron and seeing what the Galra did, they all had nightmares. Nothing compared, though. Not to this, not in Keith’s mind. 

“I’m staying,” Keith says firmly and then instantly recoils at himself - he’s no better than the Galra if he just makes Shiro do whatever he wants, is he? “I mean-”

“Keith, no,” Shiro doesn’t bother covering himself; they’ve both seen it by now and Keith’s eyes stay firmly on Shiro’s face rather than anywhere else. He’s limping slightly; there’s no missing that and it makes his veins feel like there’s fire in them, all this fight and nowhere to take it. “You didn’t sign up for this.” 

“What, and _you did?_ ” Keith flinches at his own raised tone and feels even worse when Shiro ducks his head in response, looking away. He doesn’t know what to do - what to say, what to give Shiro, doesn’t know how to ask him what he needs. Maybe it’s better he leaves but he’s also not really enthused about the idea of Shiro falling over in the shower or something, either. Getting him from Blue down to Keith’s room was an adventure all on its own with Shiro taking unsteady, staggering steps, still getting the feeling back in his legs.One deep, unsteady breath followed by a second steadier one and Keith takes a step forward, not touching him but opening the door panel to the bathroom and the showers. 

Before he can say anything, Shiro follows him in and starts the shower on his own; it takes two attempts. Neither of them mention that his human hand is shaking too badly to get it right the first time but then the water hisses and sputters to a start and Shiro gingerly steps in, wobbling. He’s going to keel over if he’s not careful; Keith doesn’t give moving closer a second thought. One hand touches to where Shiro’s shoulder is of his whole arm, blowing out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Shiro grips his forearm tightly to steady himself. It’s a wonder Shiro doesn’t flinch from that, but he simply sags against the wall of the shower and lets the water hit him, his head lowered. 

They stand like that for a long moment, just the hiss of the water the only noise between them. Shiro doesn’t react to it hitting his injuries, the pale pink water flushing off of his skin, the thicker fluid that Keith doesn’t want to think about running down the lines of his body, washed off. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Keith says finally, voice cracking awfully somewhere in the middle. He hasn’t said it much during the time that Shiro’d gone missing for a third time and it feels like a cowardly move to say it here and now when Shiro’s the one who needs his help, but he doesn’t know _how_ to help. 

When Shiro’s head lifts, his hair is damp and sticking wetly to his forehead. If his eyes are wet, Keith blames it on the water from the spout even if both of them know better. He looks smaller right now, and it doesn’t feel right, Shiro hunched over himself like this, gaunt and exhausted. “You can come in. You’ve already seen it.” 

The resignation kills him, just a little bit, but the decision is made. Keith shoves off his boots and leaves himself in the black underarmor that he’d worn under Lotor’s robes, stepping into the shower gingerly. That Shiro doesn’t protest it - doesn’t do more than skim his eyes over Keith and smile tiredly - is jarring and nauseating, just like this whole experience. It’s a shower. People get clean in the shower and Shiro’s -- well, he doesn’t know how long it’s been since Shiro had one but he can do this. He knows the procedure to this. Gently he reaches out and guides Shiro back under the flow of water. One of his hands lifts to press over his eyebrows and keep the water from getting into his eyes when he tilts his head back to wet it. It’s not perfect, but it works and Shiro leans into him, eyes closed, letting himself be moved where Keith needs. 

Once his hair is wet, he guides them back a little bit more, turns Shiro’s back to the spray to ensure that he stays warm during it. The cold prickles at him - it’s not comfortable standing there in the black suit while it’s wet but he’ll live. His bottle of shampoo is within reach so he grabs for that, uncapping it with his teeth. The Altean shampoo unscented to begin with, but lately they’ve been experimenting with flowers and other herbs they find on planets, an endeavor mostly brought forth from boredom. Keith hadn’t bothered trying to recreate any scents from home, he’d just let Hunk tinker with it until he presented him with something. It smelled like a sharper sort of mint, almost, which worked for Keith. 

“Here, lean down,” Keith murmurs, guiding him with one hand, lifting the other to smooth the gel through Shiro’s hair. Even with Shiro bent, he has to stretch up a little bit, working his way through the long fringe first, fingers gentle against his scalp. 

Just like this, he can almost pretend it’s a normal, easy morning. On nights where they stay up late for mornings they can sleep in, Shiro’d been getting better about relaxing, sharing their morning shower just for the sake of doing it, taking their time. It isn’t, though - nothing about this is normal and the lassitude in Shiro isn’t from a relaxing night. 

“Lance is bringing clothes from your room,” Keith tells him because there’s nothing else to say and it’s too quiet in the bathroom, even with the white noise of the shower. His fingers scrub a little more firmly against Shiro’s head, working the suds up and then smoothing them back so they slip down the nape of his neck and not into his eyes. The water beats down over Shiro’s shoulders, the broad line of him enough to block any of it from hitting Keith. 

“Okay,” Shiro answers, tilting his head just a little to press his temple against one of Keith’s arms. He holds that for just a moment and then edges closer, Keith going still, letting Shiro step in and then rest his forehead against Keith’s shoulder. His human hand lifts, curling at Keith’s waist, the gesture an intentional mirror of those mornings Keith was thinking about. “Keep talking to me?” 

_What about_ , Keith wants to ask, at a loss. About how much the team missed him? About how awful it was to know that he was on a ship in the middle of nowhere without knowing that they weren’t just going to leave him? The silence must drag on too long because Shiro winds his arm around the narrow line of Keith’s waist and hugs him, shuddering a sigh into his throat. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Shiro gives the small of his back a little pat, starting to pull away only to have Keith make a protesting noise and still him.

If he wants Keith to talk - he can do that. He’s not Lance, he can’t just rattle things off when he gets nervous and Shiro knows that, but he can _talk_. Shiro’s been through a whole hell of a lot worse than just being asked to talk and if he can weather that, Keith can do this. 

“Pidge took down a level six Gladiator last week,” Keith says finally. His hands work their way back through Shiro’s hair, through the thickest parts and then down along the line where it used to be buzzed short, now grown out a little bit, messy and uneven. He doesn’t have any nails to use, but he scrubs firmly with his fingertips, digging his fingers into Shiro’s neck gently to try and get some of that tension out of him even if he knows that it’s an impossible task. “Hunk went shopping at the Hub again and has some new recipes he’s trying out; he had Lance and I taste test everything.” 

There’s no laughter like there’d normally be on those lazy mornings where they had some extra time to linger in the shower, hands wandering, trading early-morning kisses and sliding wet skin against each other. He won’t let this ruin that for them; he can’t. The Galra take and take and take but this is for them, this is _theirs_. They’ve ruined enough good things for Shiro, so he keeps talking, keeps up a slightly unsteady line of conversation that doesn’t require Shiro to answer, just to listen. 

“Rinse,” Keith says quietly and together they shift so that Shiro can tilt his head back and let the suds run out of his hair, Keith placing a hand at his eyebrows again to prevent him from getting any in his eyes. Two sweeps rids most of his hair of the shampoo and Keith slicks it back with careful fingers so it doesn’t get in his face. Hair is the easy part. The rest is-- he’s not sure what to do. “Shiro...I need to know where I can-” 

Touch, where he can help, what he can _do_ because he doesn’t know _what_ or how to help, not with this. Not with something this horrific. It’s one thing to put boots on the ground in a city that’s been destroyed with no people around. It’s something else to have the evidence of what the Galra are capable of with someone he loves, someone he’s known for years, someone who he promised the Galra would never take again. Someone he _failed_. 

“I’ll get it,” Shiro murmurs, which isn’t what Keith really wanted to hear, but he doesn’t protest it. Instead, he wedges himself underneath what’s left of Shiro’s arm to support him and wets a washcloth, smearing it with a different bottle’s contents, the same minty smell filling the shower. When it’s done, he passes it over to Shiro and lets him start working. 

It’s slow going. Everything about Shiro is subdued, exhausted. He works the washcloth over his shoulders and throat, down over the line of bite marks which stand out that much more sharply against his space-pale skin angry red dots of teeth from not just Lotor. The mint likely stings, Keith realizes, but Shiro’s not reacting to it and it’s not like he can just run dripping down the hall to get something else. Nothing to be done except stand there and support him when he wobbles on unsteady feet, working his way down to his hips and the insides of his thighs with ginger movements. 

Rather than look and taken inventory of every single injury splashed across Shiro’s body, Keith pushes his face into Shiro’s chest, rests his forehead there and listens to the sounds of the washcloth rubbing over skin. He keeps the talking up - talks about the shiny baubles that Allura’d purchased last time they had to stop for supplies. Talks about the suit that Coran had brought out of storage when they’d asked about Altean formalwear. Talks about anything and everything that’s _good_ so Shiro can focus on something else. 

Eventually, the washcloth stops and Shiro shifts his weight a little, bracing himself against Keith and the wall. The small, uncomfortable noises that escape are enough for Keith to figure out what he’s doing; the sweatpants were soaked through with the mess the Galra had left behind. How long he’d been kneeling there like that, Keith didn’t know. Didn’t want to think about. 

When it’s finished, Shiro is the one to reach down and turn the shower off, the water dribbling to a stop, the room suddenly much colder now that the heated water isn’t warming it. It takes some creative stretching to reach the towels while still supporting Shiro but he manages, guiding both of them out until he can drop one towel over the closed toilet so Shiro can gingerly sit down, and then starts working on drying him off from the feet to his knees, then his hands and chest down to his waist. He avoids anything too sensitive and knows that it’s obvious but Shiro’s not calling it out, not commenting on it, so he leaves it to be one more unspoken subject between them. 

“How much does everyone know?” Shiro asks finally, heavily, his hand resting palm down on his thighs while Keith takes a comb to his hair, working out the knots in small, gentle strokes. “Lotor said he broadcast my fights but implied that-” 

Everything was broadcast, to a point. He’s not sure if it was Galra-wide or just directed at them and certain planets, he’s not sure if it matters. The first two transmissions that they received were bad enough that Keith and Allura who were the only ones who could watch any of them after that. Truthfully, Allura hadn’t wanted any of them to watch because she understood why Lotor was doing this and they shouldn’t give him an inch, but she also knew that convincing Keith to do anything else was a useless endeavor. Keith hadn’t wanted anyone to watch them to begin with once he realized what they were seeing - Shiro wouldn’t want them seeing any of this. Not the battles, not the time on the table with the Druids experimenting on him, not his time leashed to a throne. 

“They’ll put the pieces together,” Keith says after weighing his words and running over them a dozen times in his head. No sense in lying; everyone else on the ship is a shit liar and Shiro’ll know. “Allura and I kept anyone from watching anything -- else, after we realized.” 

Gently, the towel works over Shiro’s human hand, drying off his fingers, working up his wrist, careful of the black and yellow bruising spread across it where he’d likely yanked at the cuffs. 

“Alright.” It’s an answer and it’s not at the same time. Shiro lets Keith finish drying him and then accepts the towel wrapped around his shoulders, tugging it quietly around himself a little more firmly, eyes shut. 

“I’m gonna go see if Lance grabbed the clothes from your room. Just - stay here, okay? Please.” 

The request is enough to get Shiro’s head to lift and his lips to twist into an awful, lopsided little smile as he looks up at Keith, wrapped in a towel too small for his broad shoulders. “Where do you think I’d even go?” 

Either Shiro’s just cooperating or he can’t get up but either option is a terrible one, so Keith vanishes from the bathroom and squelches his way to the door where Lance is bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously, holding a pile of clothing in one hand, a blanket, and what looks like a little box of food with a packet of Altean painkillers on top. As soon as the door opens, he whirls around and nearly drops the food until Keith grabs at it, steadying him. 

“Is he - how’s -- everyone’s waiting in the meeting room but I told them that it’d be a while until we knew if he was gonna go in the pod or not and -- Hunk put together something, it should be easy on his stomach. He’s making some kinda broth, too, for tomorrow-”

“Lance,” Keith doesn’t need to raise his voice, just the simple word is enough to get Lance to trail off, digging his toe into the ground. 

“You’re all wet, dude, what were you-- oh.” Realization looks awful on Lance’s face, his eyes widening, recoiling slightly as the dots connect. Horror is quickly overtaken by something awfully close to rage, though; Lance’s eyes narrow and his jaw sets, hands clenching into fists once they’re freed of what he brought over. “He’s not coming out tonight, is he. Good. Make him get some rest. I’ll take care of the team.” 

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that, the words not coming. A few years ago, this would have been an argument. Lance trying to push his way in and fight with Keith about who was going to save Shiro, who was going to take care of him. Now, Lance stares at him seriously and then after Keith fails to respnd, reaches out and tugs him into a furious hug, despite how wet Keith is from the shower. 

“Okay,” Keith says dumbly, not realizing how badly he needed this until Lance was holding him. He lets himself have a moment of it - a moment to grab at Lance and hug him so tight it hurts and then releases.

“Take care of _him,_ okay?” Lance murmurs with far too much understanding in his tone. Water leaves wet marks all over his front like one of those ink splotch paintings therapists used to show him back in the day, but he doesn’t seem to care and Keith -- well. Keith appreciates it, more than he has words for. “And take care of you, too.”

“Okay,” Keith repeats, a little lost. Lance touches their foreheads together, not dissimilar from how they do before battle, helmets knocking together affectionately and then pulls back, starting off down the hall to run interference for them. 

When he goes back into the bedroom, Shiro hasn’t moved an inch from what he can tell. He looks up when the door hisses open again, but doesn’t react past that, waiting for Keith to enter the bathroom again. 

“Food, and clothes,” Keith says unnecessarily, settling the food just outside the washroom so he can shake out Shiro’s change of clothing. When he goes through what Lance brought, he sees there’s a first aid kit, too. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate it,” Shiro murmurs, stopping him before he can get too far. “But you’re still soaking wet. Change and get dry and then we’ll worry about this. I’m not-- going anywhere.” 

He’s not _wrong_ but Keith still wants to balk at it. Better to take care of Shiro first but that’s not how this works; that’s never how Shiro’s allowed things to operate. Rather than fight it, Keith sheds the soaked underarmor and kicks it into a pile in the shower to dry out later. It takes a moment to swap out wet briefs for dry ones but he tugs on a pair of pajama pants and a tank top and then pads back to Shiro, grimacing when he steps in a puddle of cold water. After a moment of consideration, he grabs a rubber band to tie back his soaked hair, shivering when it drips down the nape of his neck. 

“Done, now let me look at you.” It’s slow going but Keith manages to get Shiro both patched up and into clothing with no one keeling over and no extra bruises, though at one point Shiro’s legs nearly give. Keith’s not sure if it’s because of lack of food given to him, or because he was forced to kneel for so long but it doesn’t really matter either way; Lotor’s going to pay for it. They manage and Shiro looks a little more like himself back in his clothing again, though the sight of the bandages peeking from under the material isn’t one Keith particularly likes to see. “You’re not going to let me get you into the cryopod are you.” 

Once, this might have made Shiro laugh quietly. Now, Shiro lifts his eyes to Keith’s face and shakes his head, gingerly starting to make his way across Keith’s bedroom without his help. “They put me in after every-- when they needed to. Nothing’s broken, just bruised.” 

That, he suspects, is a goddamn lie or at the very least a hideous understatement, but he doesn’t fight it. Not when Shiro’s making his way slowly to the bed and then gingerly collapsing into it, curling onto his side. Keith grabs the container of food since he has to at least _try_ and makes his way over to sit down where Shiro’s body is curved. It feels like there’s miles between them when he reaches out, pressing fingertips against Shiro's shoulder, just the barest hint of pressure. “Think you can manage to eat something before you sleep?” 

The long pause of silence is not exactly heartening but after a moment, Shiro makes a low noise under his breath and pushes himself up until he’s reclined against the wall instead. The tray of food is settled in his lap - fruits from the last planet they were on, some sort of meat, some sort of orange vegetable, water. Nothing complicated or too harsh on Shiro’s stomach. Keith’s grateful for that. While Shiro starts to pick at the food, Keith stands and grabs the discarded towel to start toweling his hair out once it’s released from the rubber band. It’ll air dry just fine, if messy. 

The blankets get drawn up over Shiro’s thighs and then Keith settles back on the bed, fingertips lightly resting on one of his knees. What’s he supposed to do now? There’s no manual for this. When they’d gotten Shiro back the first time from his imprisonment, it’d taken time to realize the full extent of what the Galra did to him and even then, they’d never directly addressed it. Shiro would dodge questions and Keith only tried to press once before it went to shit and he’d regretted it. It was one thing to suspect what happened and another to be confronted face to face with it. 

“We’re going to kill him,” Keith says abruptly, the promise oddly loud in the quiet of the room. Shiro’s head lifts, the food forgotten for a moment as he looks at Keith, not speaking. “I’ll save him for you if you want, but we’re going to kill him.” 

Him and anyone else who touched Shiro. They’ll pull the logs of all the Galra on the ship and Pidge can track down where they are. They might not have been the ones who hurt Shiro directly, but they had to be aware. They knew and there was no excusing it. 

He almost expects Shiro to argue that it’s not worth it, that they have to spend their time and energy on other things, but instead, Shiro lids the empty container again and curls his hand in the blankets on his lap, his voice carefully blank. “If you see him, take him out. Don’t risk letting him get away.”

Good enough. Keith nods once and takes the tray of food from him, tossing the packet of water and pills once Shiro’s down the latter and finished the drink. While he’s tidying up, the bed creaks and groans with the addition of Shiro’s weight as he shifts on the bed. Is he supposed to stay? Maybe he’ll just stay up and make sure Shiro gets some sleep. He isn’t sure if Shiro’s going to want him in bed or not, not with everything that’s happened and he’s not about to ask, so instead he presses his hand to the door to lock it and then turns the comms in his room to away that way only an alarm will break through and wake him. When he turns back to the bed. Shiro’s on his side watching Keith, half of the bed clearly saved, the blankets turned back in invitation.

“You don’t have to,” Keith says blankly, staring at the open spot, wondering how after everything Shiro can stand to have him close - he’s part Galra, he shares blood with the monsters who did this to him, to all these other planets and people. Do years of friendship really cancel that out? 

“I know,” Shiro pauses a moment, brow furrowing. “Keith. I want you here.” 

He has to trust Shiro’s doing this for himself and not for Keith, but even that’s a lot to unpack and think about right now. Slowly, Keith makes his way over to the bed and crawls under the covers, lying on his back between Shiro and the door. It leaves a few inches of space between them in the small bed but Shiro closes that once Keith settles, scooting closer until he mirrors how they normally sleep, his cheek resting on top of Keith’s chest, his arm draped over his waist. Shiro’s hair is still wet, bleeding into the thin material of Keith’s shirt but he doesn’t care. His hand lifts to start combing through it gently, running his fingers through the long fringe and then scratching lightly at the nape of his neck like he used to when it was buzzed short. 

“We can cut it tomorrow, if you want,” Keith murmurs, his voice sounding too loud in the eerie stillness of the room. At first, he thinks that Shiro didn’t hear him because there’s no response but then there’s hitched breath and Shiro’s hand tightening over Keith’s waist, his body sliding closer until he’s curled tightly against him. Panic rises up in him, swells in his chest and threatens to spill out of his mouth as he tries to curl in closer in response, tugging the blankets up, trying to envelop Shiro as much as possible, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other his forearm, feeling the tension. He can’t promise that Shiro’s safe now, that he’ll keep him safe in the future - not when he’d failed Shiro this badly to begin with. What he can do is stay here now, holding Shiro as tightly as he dares. 

“Yeah, okay,” Shiro says thickly. They both pretend that it’s his hair that gets Keith’s shirt damp: something else to address later. There’s no thanks; Keith’s grateful for that, he’s not sure what he’d say in response. Instead of saying anything at all, he squeezes Shiro’s shoulder gingerly and drags one sock-clad foot up against his leg, letting their feet tangle together too until they’re a warm mess underneath the blankets, Shiro’s breath hot against his throat. 

Neither of them sleep for who knows how long. He can tell because Shiro’s breathing never evens out. It hitches, sometimes, and there’s the heavy working of his throat with a swallow every so often, or a sniff, but no sleep. Keith’s hands keep up the slow stroking in response, shifting to digging his fingers into the muscles of Shiro’s neck and back to try and work some of that out again like he had in the shower. 

After he starts making some progress, Shiro shifts against him, splays his hand out on Keith’s chest and curls loose in the material there. “I’m okay, Keith,” Shiro says quietly. They both know it’s a lie but it’s one they let him say and that Keith accepts. “Not...entirely, but I knew the team - knew _you_ would come. I didn’t doubt it for a minute. It kept me going.” 

It shouldn’t have to keep him going, Keith wants to say. They should have been able to stop Lotor from taking him, should have been able to do something about it - what kind of defenders of anything are they, if they can’t keep Shiro from being taken? But it’s not that easy and Keith know what point Shiro’s trying to make. 

“Always,” Keith promises, staring up at the dark ceiling of his room, Shiro a steady, grounding weight against him.There’s no consistent sleep to be had that night; Shiro dozes a few times and jerks back awake every so often leaving Keith to remind him where he is, talking him down in the dim light of the bedroom. Come morning, they’re both exhausted but somehow, Shiro looks...better. He won’t listen to anyone’s attempts at getting him to stay on bedrest, leveling Keith an unimpressed look as he slides into the Black paladin armor, decision made. They’re the first to arrive on the bridge, Shiro in his black armor, Keith in red at his right side, staring at a blinking light on the screen where Lotor’s location is. 

“Let’s go,” Shiro says firmly. Allura presses a hand to his shoulder and opens up a wormhole.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably post this on tumblr so I can write 2k of meta about what I think would happen in this scenario because I'm history's greatest monster or something.


End file.
